Snow, Still Falling
by D.K. Archer
Summary: We all got here somehow. Todd Kurt SLASH, contains violence to children


Title: Snow, Still Falling Rating: hard R Warnings: This fic contains Todd/Kurt SLASH as well as horrible things happening to small children. If either of these will bother you overmuch, turn back please.  
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(Okay, yeah, so once there'd been this kid, this little dumb kid, but I don't wanna call him Todd, lets call him something else, lets call him Richie)

Todd tasted burnt foam, and a flash of heat on his lips. He made a face and reached over Kurt's back, stubbing out the cigarette butt on the nightstand by the bed. There wasn't any ashtray. Technically, this wasn't a smoking room. But they weren't paying for it, so he didn't much care.

(And this little kid see, this kid I'm gonna call Richie, because Todd wasn't his name, Todd's a dumb name, right? Well little Richie went for a ride one day, and it was snowing, all pink like snow gets in the country sometimes, and the sparkling new Chevrolet Steve had bought with his insurance money was warm and toasty inside, because it had to be warm and toasty, because his momma didn't like the cold, and frankly, neither did Richie)

It was a god awful place. You'd think they'd sneak into nice hotels once in a while, but it was hard to convince Kurt to bamph them into the Mariott or a Double Tree or something. He seemed to have this weird idea that if they snuck into one of the shitty motels it wasn't as bad as breaking into a nice one, because in the shitty ones it hardly made a difference, did it? It wasn't like anyone washed these sheets, anyway. 

Whoever stayed here next would find blue fur on the comforter. Let them figure that one out, huh?

(So they're going on this ride, see, and Richie's sittin in the back seat, lookin out the window kinda dreamin, because that's what kids do on long car rides. Momma was laughing a lot, but Steve wasn't really saying anything that funny. She looked pretty, though. She'd gotten her hair cut, and it settled carefully on her neck and hid that scar under her jaw, that nasty one that had sent her to the hospital. Richie was sharing the backseat with a suitcase. It wasn't his. There were two more in the trunk, but he hadn't asked about them. Steve did weird things like that, and because he did, Momma did. She did everything Steve wanted her to. Everything.)

Kurt was asleep, finally. In the light from one cheap bedside lamp he was sharp, tainted blues and dark shadows, the sheet tangled around his legs. He had his back to Todd, but he was mad at Todd, so that was hardly a surprise. Under the covers, the very end of Kurt's tail was flickering in a dream, like a cat's does, sometimes. It made a soft, muffled sound on the fabric. It had annoyed the hell out of Todd the first time he slept next to the guy. Almost as annoying as waking up with fur on his tongue. 

Todd had been angry, too, a little. Not as much as he was. Kurt was always mad at him, lately. 

(So they're driving, right? And Steve says he's gotta take a leak, and there's a rest stop up ahead. And Momma looks frozen. She isn't laughing anymore. Richie, sleepy from the heat and the thrum of the engine, didn't want to get out, but Steve said shouldn't he go now, just in case? Because he'd have to go later, and it was a long way to his Grandmother's house Later, he'd learned that Montana was, indeed, a very long way from New York. And that they weren't going there, anyway, so it hardly mattered. And so Steve takes him into the bathroom and Richie wants to go in the stalls because it's so damned dirty and because he doesn't want to take it out in front of Steve. So Steve says he's gonna go wait in the car, and he goes out, and Richie goes in the filthy rest stop bathroom and washes his hand, and he couldn't have been that old because the sink was uncomfortable, a little too high for him. And he wipes his hands on his coat and he goes back out and--)

Todd supposed he deserved it. He wasn't TRYING to piss Kurt off, but he deserved it all the same. And he didn't like it. He didn't want Kurt yelling at him anymore, though it was only when the boy was yelling at him, those yellow eyes so sharp and dangerous, that mouth pulled up in hate, that he realized how much trouble he was really in. Because he was scared, then. Scared he was loving him so much and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop this, to make Kurt happy with him again.

Except tell him the truth, of course. 

That wasn't going to happen.

(So Richie's standing out there at the rest stop, looking at the tracks in the snow, in the quiet snow, all the other cars gone off the road. And he's alone there. Snow is falling lightly on the treadmarks of the Chevrolet, covering up the pattern of them leaving him. And Richie waited for them to realize their mistake and come back. And he waited. And as the snow made the tracks disappear completely Richie started to cry. Because he was cold. And because he was alone. And because he was so damned scared in the snow.)

Kurt had told him everything, of course. Laying in the dark, his head on Todd's thin shoulder, he'd done most of the talking. Todd had just laid there quietly, and smoked, and when Kurt talked about the hard stuff he'd scratched the fur on his back because he didn't really know what else to do. And he'd kissed those scars on Kurt's legs the next time they made love, and it was making love, at least to him. It hurt too much to be anything less.

When Kurt touched him, Todd felt like ribs breaking.

All Kurt wanted was for him to be in this, too. Kurt was giving up everything, he was risking so much to Todd just to try to SHOW him, and Todd knew it. He wasn't unappreciative. He did love him, after all. But damned if he could say as much. Damned if he could say anything.

He didn't mean to hurt him, he just couldn't—

(The Orange Thunderbird. Any red blooded boy in America would recognize that logo, and Richie sure did. It was a beautiful car, custom done and glittering under the snow. The sun was going down. And Richie was sitting on the curb at the rest stop, shivering, almost too cold to shiver. And there was so…much…nothing… and the snow just kept falling and the white just kept piling up and Richie almost felt like he was going to die here, buried under snow forever, because it felt like the end of the world. And then the Orange Thunderbird. Beautiful. It pulled in and a little man, a little Chinese man, got out and looked at Richie like he was an Alien, and he said his name was Charlie, and Todd wouldn't realize why that was funny until ten years later, and then he'd laugh, and he'd laugh so hard he'd start to cry, and then he'd just cry until his ribs hurt and Freddy was looking at him like Charlie had looked at him…No, had looked at Richie.)

Every time Kurt kissed him it felt like something was breaking. Kurt was like fire. Sometimes Todd had to fend him off, shying away from kisses on his collar, from hands on his hips, and that was when Kurt would get angry. And then Todd would come back, and he'd kiss him, and he'd make love to him the best he could, and when they were done Todd felt like a giant open sore. Kurt wasn't happy, though he'd done it for him. Kurt didn't understand—

Because Todd couldn't tell him--

(And Charlie, what a great name for a chinaman, ha ha Charlie, Todd sometimes doubted it was real. And Charlie had come over and said what are you doing out here, you shouldn't be here alone. And Richie had told him, And he'd told him it had been hours. And then he'd cried on that sheepskin coat, the one with the fur lining, and Charlie had told him there there, it was going to be okay. Get in the car and we'll go find your mother. Just get in the car, get out of the snow, and everything will be alright. And Richie got in the car. And he'd turned the heater up, and they'd started to drive. And the inside of the Thunderbird had smelled like new leather and cigarette smoke, and the seat had creaked under Richie's thighs. And….And….)

He just couldn't. He couldn't do it. He couldn't have Kurt looking at him like Freddy had, like Charlie had, like the way Kurt never looked at him. Like he was a freak. And he couldn't have Kurt regret what they'd done, regret having kissed those scars, because he didn't think he could bear it.

(Charlie just drove. He drove and the thrum and the heater comforted Richie. And Charlie had smoked. His mom never smoked, though Steve did, sometimes. And Charlie didn't talk much. But after a little while, they'd turned down a country road, one so bogged with snow the short Thunderbird barely made it. And they'd gone far enough, and then Charlie had stopped the car. And he'd looked at Todd sidelong, and for the long, painful second before he grabbed him time stretched out, and Todd almost thought he understood. He'd known this man was going to eat him alive. And he'd wished he'd never gotten in this car.

And then….

And then…..)

Todd fished another cigarette out of the box and lit it, face momentarily aglow in fire light. He puffed, and looked down at Kurt. Kurt slept on, angry and oblivious.

(And then hands. Big hands, cold hands-- shoved down SLAM into the window. And then the seats squealing. The window crank digging into his shoulder and big hands clawing at him, trying to hold him still and kicking and panicking and-- Todd's coat was on but his pants were down and-- he didn't scream. He'd made little noises, little pig noises, squealing and struggling and kicking and biting in that little space that had seemed too small, and then-- And Charlie hit him, hard, across the temple. Richie started to hyperventilate. the sharp juxtaposition of his suddenly too-hot coat and the cold air in the cabin on his thighs and then-- Charlie undid his belt buckle. Then it hurt and he squealed and it was too big and oh god under the smoke, blood and shit and-- momma— and then-- big hands on his throat-- Charlie had--- then-- he had-- the sheepskin coat—

And then, when they were done, and Charlie was back in his own seat, lighting another cigarette, Todd stopped breathing. He'd stared into the dashboard and had just stopped. And Charlie had started hitting him on the back until he choked and gasped again, and then he'd started to bawl. Blubbering, wet child sounds. Pain sounds. He thought he was going to die.

That sentiment would show up a lot over the next few months.)

In a cheap motel room, on a November night, Todd smoked, quietly, until he ran out of cigarettes. Kurt slept on silently through the night. And Todd watched him. 


End file.
